Fatal Care (33 page)

“Maybe he just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

“Maybe,” Jake said, unconvinced. “Or maybe there was a reason he wanted to keep them.”

“Like what?”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’ll bet the person Mirren was in cahoots with does.”

“What makes you so sure there was somebody else?”

“Because somebody had Mirren iced by a pro,” Jake explained. “Somebody else was right in the middle of this.”

They sipped their beers in silence, both trying to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. The log in the fireplace cracked loudly and split in two, sending sparks flying upward. For a moment the blaze intensified. Then it died down.

“Everything points to Bio-Med,” Joanna said quietly. “Everything.”

“You got proof?”

“No,” she had to admit. “But this baby trail leads right to Bio-Med. And there are some very peculiar things going on out there.”

Joanna told Jake about the hot zone lab and the space suits that seemed to have no function. Then she described the back room behind the hot zone lab where a small surgical table was located and where no technicians were allowed.

“What the hell do they do back there?” Jake asked hoarsely.

“Nancy Tanaka says they work on experimental animals in there.”

“You believe that?”

“Not now,” Joanna replied. “I think they’re working on something other than experimental animals.”

“Like fetuses?”

“Like human fetuses.”

“But you got no proof. Right?”

“Right,” Joanna conceded. “But I’ll bet I could find some proof if we could take a look around in there. Particularly if we showed up unexpectedly.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about a search warrant?”

Joanna hesitated. “I guess.”

“Forget it,” Jake said at once. “We’ll never get a search warrant based on hunches. That’ll never fly.”

“But you know I’m right.”

“Knowing you’re right and proving it are two different things.”

“Just a quick look around,” Joanna said, more to herself than to Jake.

Jake studied her face at length, trying to read her expression and her mind. “Don’t do anything stupid. Breaking and entering is a felony, regardless of why you do it.”

“Oh, I’d never do that,” Joanna said lightly.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jake said, his voice dead serious.

“Why think about something that can’t be done?” Joanna asked. “Nobody is going to get through the high security they have out there.”

Jake studied her face again, hoping she wasn’t going to try something foolish. She’s got more sense than that, he tried to convince himself. She wouldn’t be that dumb.

Jake was looking at Joanna’s profile as the blazing fire illuminated it in flashes. Her features were striking and soft, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She appeared so young and pretty, so unchanged by the years. She seemed ageless to him.

“What?” Joanna asked, returning his stare.

“Nothing,” Jake said, reaching for her and drawing her close. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Lucy Rabb and Eric Brennerman were sitting across from each other at the noisy, crowded restaurant in Encino. Their knees were touching under the table.

“Isn’t it dangerous for us to meet like this?” Lucy asked. “You know, out in the open?”

“It’s the perfect place,” Brennerman told her. “I run Bio-Med and you are now its major stockholder. Why shouldn’t we be having lunch at a fine restaurant? We’re talking business. We have nothing to hide.”

Lucy pressed her knee up against his inner thigh. “I wish we were aboard the
Argonaut
.”

“Me, too.”

The waiter came over, refilled their wineglasses, and then placed the 1992 Mondavi chardonnay back in the ice bucket. “Would you like to see a menu, sir?”

“Later,” Brennerman said, and waved him away.

Lucy watched the waiter leave. She leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “Is everything going all right out at Bio-Med?”

“All of our experiments are on track.”

“What about the side effects?”

“They can be dealt with,” Brennerman assured her.

“Cancer can be dealt with?” Lucy asked too loudly. Heads turned, and she lowered her voice once more. “How the hell are you going to deal with that?”

“I know what the problem is,” Brennerman said quietly. “And it can be readily fixed.”

Which was a half truth. He knew the mechanism that induced the organs to become malignant, but fixing it was another matter. That could take a lot of time to sort out and eventually remedy. But it was doable. A purified preparation that could transform old organs into new ones was entirely doable.

“How long will it take?” Lucy asked.

“A few months,” Brennerman lied easily. “And from then on, it’s smooth sailing.”

“And it’s going to be worth billions,” Lucy said dreamily.

“And billions,” Brennerman added. “It’ll produce an ocean of money.”

Lucy made a wry face. “But so far I haven’t seen a penny.”

“Bio-Med is making plenty of money from our genetically modified plants, but we’re putting all the profits back into research and development,” Brennerman said. “That way we’ll become incredibly profitable in the future.”

“But I still haven’t gotten any money out of it,” Lucy complained.

Brennerman nodded, knowing exactly how to play Lucy Rabb. “If you wished, you could declare a dividend on all Bio-Med shares.”

Lucy brightened up. “I could?”

“Sure. You’re the majority stockholder. All you’ve got to say is, ‘I want to declare a dividend of a quarter a share,’ and we’d have to do it.”

Lucy licked her lips. “Have we got enough money to do that?”

“I think so.”

“And how much money would I end up getting?”

Brennerman tilted his head back, as if he were calculating in his mind. He made up a number. “Probably a couple of hundred thousand a year.”

“That’s not bad,” Lucy said, wondering if she should declare an even bigger dividend. Say a dollar a share.

“But if you plowed the money back into research and development, your annual draw would eventually be a lot more.”

“How much more?” Lucy asked hastily.

“As much as two million dollars a year.”

“Jesus,” Lucy breathed. “That’s a ton of money.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

Brennerman watched the greed on Lucy’s face grow. He knew her answer before she gave it.

“I think I’ll wait,” she said.

“That’s the smart move.”

“Yeah. I’ll wait,” Lucy said again, trusting Brennerman more than any man she’d ever known, which wasn’t very much. But he owned 20 percent of Bio-Med, and he loved money every bit as much as she did. Like everybody else in the world, he’d act in his own best interest. And his best interest just happened to be her best interest. “You’ll tell me when it’s the right time to declare a dividend?”

“I sure will.”

The waiter returned with menus and handed them out. “Would you like to hear our specials for today?”

“Yes,” Lucy answered before Brennerman could say no.

“We have a delicious lobster salad,” the waiter began. “It’s made with chunks of fresh Maine lobster onabedof. . .”

Brennerman tuned out the waiter’s voice and watched Lucy Rabb over the top of his menu. She was stunning and sexy and brighter than most people gave her credit for. A lot brighter. She was smart enough to know the value of Bio-Med stock and smart enough to know what to do when her husband had decided to turn over all his Bio-Med holdings to a charitable foundation for ovarian cancer, the disease that had killed his first wife.

That would have been a disaster, Brennerman thought, shuddering at just the idea. They would have controlled everything and had an oversight committee looking over his shoulder twenty-four hours a day. But Lucy knew exactly how to handle that. She ensnared Mervin Tuch with her beauty and body, and made him do everything she wanted him to do. Tuch was able to delay the transfer of Bio-Med stock to charity and also made sure Edmond Rabb’s will remained unchanged until the old man could be dropped off the end of his yacht. And then Lucy made her smartest move. She picked Eric Brennerman to be her partner. Oh, yeah.
She could be plenty smart enough when she wanted to be
, Brennerman told himself.
And cold-blooded as well
.

Brennerman felt Lucy’s big toe running up his shinbone under the table.

“The mussels sound delicious, don’t they?” Lucy asked.

“Absolutely,” Brennerman said absently.

“They’re brought in fresh from Australia,” the waiter went on, “and cooked in a . . .”

Brennerman tuned out the voice again and watched the waiter, who was now peeking down at Lucy’s cleavage. She could do that to men. She could make them look even when they tried not to.

That was how it had started between himself and Lucy. A look. Instant attraction. They were good together and better yet in bed. But their relationship hadn’t turned into love and never would. But that was all right with Brennerman. He knew they would stay together because they needed each other. And need was much more dependable than love.

“What do you think, Eric?” Lucy asked.

“I’ll have the lobster salad.”

“Me, too.”

As the waiter retrieved the menus, he stole one more peek at Lucy’s breasts.

“It’s terrible what happened to Mervin Tuch,” Lucy said, making conversation.

“Terrible,” Brennerman agreed.

“The streets aren’t safe anymore.”

“And getting worse.”

The waiter nodded his agreement and checked the wineglasses. Then he withdrew.

Lucy leaned forward, keeping her voice down. “The pro did a good job this time, didn’t she?”

Brennerman quickly brought a finger to his lips and hushed her. “Shhh!”

Lucy glanced around, making certain no one was within earshot. “But it was a good job.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

She glanced around again and leaned in even closer. “What do you mean?”

“On the local TV news last night, a reporter said the police were looking into the possibility that Tuch was killed by a professional.”

“Shit,” Lucy spat disgustedly. “This hitter keeps screwing up.”

“We’re still okay,” Brennerman whispered reassuringly. “Nothing points to us. And remember, all lawyers have enemies. It comes with the territory.”

“The police aren’t stupid,” Lucy whispered back. “They know Edmond and Mirren were murdered. And now Tuch gets it. Somebody is going to put everything together.”

“Nobody is going to put anything together unless they first find out what’s going on out at Bio-Med,” Brennerman said quietly. “We’re the only two left who know. And neither of us will talk, will we?”

“God, if they find out,” Lucy said worriedly. “I guess we should be thankful the cops aren’t scientists.”

“The cops could never figure this out,” Brennerman told her. “Our only concern is Joanna Blalock. If she digs long enough and deep enough, she could come up with the answer.”

“But you said she wasn’t making any more visits to the Bio-Med plant.”

“She’s not,” Brennerman said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But she’s been meeting secretly with one of our senior technicians.”

“Oh, shit,” Lucy moaned softly.

“And it’s the same technician who was sleeping with Mirren.”

“Oh, shit,” Lucy said again. “And Blalock is smart enough to put everything together, too.”

“Not if she’s dead.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Not another one!”

“It can’t be helped.”

“But if she’s murdered, the police will never let go of the investigation.”

“What if she just disappears?”

“How can you do that?”

“There are ways.”

Lucy gave the matter more thought. “But the police will still come looking for her.”

“Let them.”

“Her disappearance will cause big trouble for us,” Lucy said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Is there any other way to deal with her?”

“We have a backup plan to get rid of her that may be even better.”

“That’s still murder. Remember, the police aren’t stupid.”

“In the backup plan we don’t murder her.”

“Then how are you going to do it?”

“We’ll let nature do it for us.”

“Nature? What the hell are you talking about?”

Brennerman reached for the wine bottle in the ice bucket. “You’ll see.”

The woman who managed the Mail Boxes Etc. store refused to accept the search warrant from Jake Sinclair.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” the manager said apologetically, “but I can’t let you near any post office box without permission from the postal inspector or the FBI.”

“Can you at least describe the person who rents out a box?” Jake asked.

“Not without an okay from the higher-ups.”

“How about if it’s a murder investigation?”

“Still can’t do it.”

“Never even for murder, huh?”

The manager extended her arms, palms out. “What can I do? The post office sets the rules, and I’ve got to follow them. People pay for their confidentiality, you see.”

Yeah, Jake was thinking, particularly professional hitters.

“Sorry.”

Jake nodded and turned to Farelli. “Put a uniformed officer behind the postal boxes and tell him to ID anybody who opens one.”

“Wait a minute!” the manager said hastily. “I’ve got a business to run here.”

Jake extended his arms, palms out. “What can I do? The police authorities set the rules. I just follow them.”

“Christ,” the manager grumbled, and went back behind the counter.

Jake and Farelli walked out of the store and into the bright sunshine. The traffic on Wilshire Boulevard was heavy, the smog in the air dense and irritating. Jake glanced around at the stores adjacent to Mail Boxes Etc. There were no parking lots.

“When the hitter comes, she’ll have to park on the street,” Jake told Farelli. “Keep your eyes peeled for a black Camry. You’ve got the license number?”

“Right here,” Farelli said, patting his coat pocket. “Thanks to the DMV computer.”

Jake lit a cigarette, thinking about how many man-hours they had saved by using the computer at the Department of Motor Vehicles. They told the computer technician they were looking for a new, dark Toyota Camry with a license number that started with a 4, followed by the letter
W
,
U
, or
V
. The computer gave them a list of over a thousand names. Then the computer was given the information that the car was owned by a woman under the age of forty who lived in the Los Angeles area. That narrowed the list down to thirty-six names, each of whom had to be carefully checked out. In less than two days, the police had the name and address of the hitter. A cold-blooded bitch, Jake was thinking, who had already killed God knows how many people.